The Sexuality of Socks
by Cactuskitty
Summary: Ginny is tired of being pushed to put out sappy poems and overly-dramatic love scenes; she wants to write something new-something real. Are you ready to unfold the sexuality of socks?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

            Ginny sighed at the book she had been reading and rereading for the past two hours, and decided that she had never written anything especially profound. Her scrawl was empty and done before; nothing was astoundingly fresh. She had written poems about flowers, love, and hurt, and her short stories weren't trekking on anything unknown either. Virginia wanted a break though; anything that might trick people into thinking that she was something above the normal, has-been, youngest, and clumsy daughter of a low class wizarding family, but most of all Virginia just wanted to write.

_As I stand feeling the ice cold waves hit me,_

_I watch him_

_I watch my friends chase him._

_But I do not follow_

_I just stand there observing_

_I just stand there with my heart in my throat_

_Observing him_

            Virginia moaned as she carelessly pushed her shoulder length ginger hair behind her ears and ripped the wasted paper out of her notebook. She wondered what in Merlin's name had ever possessed her to write such crap. It sounded like something you would find within the context of one of those cheesy romance novels that her friends often read then giggled about later. She would rather die than continue writing such a mockery to literature. 

No, if she was fated to write the romance tales that Hermione begged out of her, the least she could do was put together a more realistic one, no more dancing on gazebos or deserted islands, something that she actually found worth her interest. With those positive ideals running through her parched brain, she hastily scribbled the title of her newest short story, and the bit of levelheaded inspiration that might just change her life. Or in any case earn her a new title among Gryffindor girls other than the budding dramatist who would scribble down a story about you and your crush for a small cost. No, this story really was going to change everything, she decided as she grinned down at the notebook. 

"This one will be different. This will be the break I need that will make people realize my seriousness," She whispered to herself giddily, as her bright russet eyes watched her slim hand as it began to scribble across the blank page of her notebook and weave the tale that would change her life.

_"__The Sexuality of Socks"_

_A short story by Virginia E. Weasley_

**Disclaimer: (I'm only posing this once so pay attention.)**

_I do not claim to own anything except the plot and that awful poem. I do not any characters or ideas from the Harry Potter book series; they are all products from the splendid J.K. Rowling. And the theme is probably not mine, per se, either, so I do not claim to own that either. I know that there is probably tons of Virginia the writer stories out there, so kudos to the person who started them._

With that said, please **review**. Tell me what you like and what you don't. Any ideas or plot devices will be taken to mind.

Thanks.


	2. Deliver us from the Chumps and Suckers

**Chapter One: Deliver Us from the Chumps and Suckers**

**(A/n: This chapter has been reposted. This version is several pages longer, for those who read the previous version. Continue at the *~*~*. Sorry about that.)**

            Hermione Granger smiled genially at the notebook that had just been handed to her. She had been sitting in the library, alone, for the past three hours going over a very difficult potions assignment and was very happy that Ginny had decided to come and join her with such a splendid surprise.  Merlin knew that she would have sat at her favorite table in the back, near the bay view window, for another three hours before she completed the remainder of her assignments and Ginny's presence just brightened the situation. Especially since she decided to bestow upon her such a delightful present.

            "Another one, Gin?" Hermione inquired with a grin, as she began flipping through the violet hardbound-notebook that she had given to her friend two weeks prior to their stay at 12 Grimmauld Place the previous year. The reason for the gift was so that Ginny might have something to keep her occupied during their long stay and a nice place to hold all the stories and poetry that she could often be found scribbling down on scratch parchment. Ginny had always been quite a writer with a vivid imagination and a talent for poetry when she tried. Hermione particularly enjoyed the stories Gin wrote solely for her about the bushy haired brunette and her fondness for the short, poetic artist by the name of Oliver. Oliver was a character loosely based on Hermione's favorite muggle actor Orlando Bloom, whose posters and pictures littered her trunk and notebooks. Bloom had grown quite an amount of resentment from Ron, who had been caught doodling on Bloom's pictures on numerous occasions.

            "Sort of, but I'm sorry to say that Oliver's not in this one." Ginny explained leaning back in her chair, eyeing the book anxiously as she started chewing her red fingernails in a feeble manner, "Actually, I think that this one's quite different from anything else I've written so far. Possibly even one of my best. . .I was wondering if you could look it over if you had time later."

            Hermione glanced down at the book before nodding dismissively, and waving off her smiling friend, "Of course I'll read it, just let me finish my homework first."

            "Thanks 'Moine! You're the greatest." Ginny squeaked merrily as she engulfed her friend in a quick hug and picked up her bag, "But please be _completely_ honest this time. I need _real_ criticism if I ever want to make it in the _real_ world…"

            "Yes, yes, I know. Now don't you have work to do? It's already October and I haven't seen you studying for the O.W.L.'s yet, you know how important those things are. . ." Ginny's head bobbed as she started her way back to Gryffindor tower and have a nice long talk with Dean.

            Hermione looked down at the book once again before sighing and placing it on the massive pile of potion books at her side. Rubbing her eyes on her palms, she considered of the already large pile of work she would have to finish before the evening was over if she even considered the Hogsmeade trip weekend after next. Not including all the extra hours she would have to put in tutoring Harry and Ron. She really had her work cut out for her when it came to those two auror-wannabes.

*      *      *      *

            The library was near empty when Draco Malfoy entered that evening without his bodyguards Vince and Greg, they had both called in a sick day when they had stupidly eaten three month old flan that Vince had found in his trunk. How it got there none of them knew, but Draco had somehow managed to convince the fools to eat it. Yes, they really did provide fair entertainment when one was bored. Draco took a seat at a table in the back near a bay view window, which probably, in the day, had a terrific view of the lake, but he paid no heed as he began to unpack the contents his favorite Norwegian Ridgeback hide bag on to the large stack of books that already were there. As he searched for a scrap piece of parchment for notes, the colossal pile grew upset by the lack of attention it was receiving. It decided to do what most books would in that position, and toppled over causing a large racket and earning Draco a nice long scolding from pitiless Madam Pince who was quite put off with his lack of respect towards literature. When her rant had concluded Draco began picking up the twenty some books that had earned him that speech in the first place. He soon began a rant of his own that continued on for some time before he picked up a violet hardcover book that most definitely did not belong with the other potion books that were discard on the table.

            It appeared to be a sort of diary like thing, which brightened Draco's mood considerably. Nothing made his spirits intensify more than the brutal humiliation of a fellow student, especially through the means of blackmail. Such despicable plots ran through his mind as he fingered that book that could make your blood run cold. His bitterness about his father's arrest had only been heightened by his return to Hogwarts. The cause for his furthered disposition was because every corner he turned the word "death eater" could be heard, and the treatment he now received from his teachers was disgusting. His louse of a father who he had held in such high esteem had brought ruin to the Malfoy name because he was too weak to even retrieve a prophecy from pathetic Potter and his wretched little friends. However, the idea of the power that they would receive in the future because of this loss and his pain was worth the agony for the time being, because one day he would be able to show them. Draco would show them all what power really was, once the Dark Lord rose to into command. Until then, such things as blackmail would have to hold him over.

            Draco examined the plain velvety cover closely and noted that was obvious worn from over use, apparently making his find a great loss to the owner. Dairies were an odd thing; made for people who had a hard time expressing their feelings or those who did it too easily. Either way, one was always a good find in means of blackmail, especially older ones; journals are like wine, the older they are the better taste of the person you receive. A sharp smirk appeared on his pale features as his thin fingers nimbly opened the worn cover and looked down at the first page. Draco was greatly surprised when he realized that the words "Dear diary," were nowhere in site, instead beside a lot of remains of ripped paper lay a poem about the weather and a depression. After that was a short story about a bushy haired girl. Draco read the story with mild interest, the mediocre writer seemed to be repressing her talent with this one; it was nothing like the poem previous to it. It held a lot less meaning and seemed to be unnatural to her mindset. 

Following the story, there was another poem; this one was a series of haikus about the seasons. They were much like the story, forced. He continued to flip through the book; most entries were like the story, however a select few out shown the rest showing define skills, but they were easily buried with the others. He spent a good part of the next hour skimming through that little book. The writer was obviously a female, that or a very gay male, because of a series of very gushy love poems and stories. Other than that assumption, Draco had no idea who the author might be.  Though his luck shown through as he discovered the last entry in the thick book and a triumphant sneer showed on his face. For when he flipped to the last story in the book, he found something that grasped his interest, and it wasn't just the identity of the authoress.

*          *          * (**A/N:** Three stars signify: meanwhile, four: later incase you didn't know.)

            Virginia smiled flippantly as she gracelessly flopped herself down on one of the scarlet chairs in the crowded common room and threw her long smooth legs over the side as she recalled the events of the past few hours. She was glad that Dean was such an understanding person; it always made breaking up a lot easier. After dating for a good four months she had grown tired of his lax attitude, and syrupy quiet nature. He didn't test the limits or try anything new. He was alive but not vibrant, exciting, adventurous, or even witty. Dean was just plain boring Dean, and she had grown weary of expecting anything more. He was sweeter than any boy she had ever gone out with, Neville with charisma, but all the sugar in the world couldn't keep that relationship going. She needed that adrenaline rush; something dangerous dodgy that would make her feel alive. It was an addiction she had gained from being a sheltered daughter in a family of mostly males. Hence all the audacious heroes in her stories and her long time crush on Harry Potter. A crush that died off once realizing that a courtship between them would be very unlikely. Now that it seem in the least bit possible her interests were elsewhere, due to the fact that it would give Ron far too much satisfaction knowing that his little innocent baby sister had returned to her old ways of blushes and cowers around his best friend. So Potter would remain nothing but a friend – for now.

            Her smile broadened as her thoughts drifted towards the idea of a friendship with benefits, and she was in the middle of wondering if Harry was a good kisser when Hermione entered, books and all. Ginny torn herself from her thoughts and the comfy chair as she advanced towards her bushed cohort, Hermione had seated herself next to Ron who was in the middle of a compelling game of wizards chess with Harry. Ginny prepared herself to tear the most cutting bits of criticism about her newest creation, as she sat down in the chair next to Harry so abruptly that he jumped. He had really been skittish since they're misadventure at the Department of Mysteries, but she took no notice as she began grilling Hermione with an overly eager grin playing on her luscious crimson lips.

            "So what did you think? Good? Bad? Terrible? My best bit of work ever conceived? Even better then the weather poem? Was it too weird? I knew it was odd. . . But the idea just came to me, you know, like being bit by a dragon. I just had to write it. It was more mature than my other stories, huh?" the words shot out of her mouth like bullets, each fast than the last, and hitting Hermione like a bag of bricks. When she noticed the blank expression on not only Hermione's face, but Harry and her brother, she paused and raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Well, don't just sit there staring at me like I'm Millicent Bertrude. I want feedback! And I want feedback now! Come on 'Moine, I can take it! Was it honestly that terrible? Oh Merlin, you hated it didn't you. . . Oh well, at least tell me what I can improve on. I'm not capable to write a mature story, no wonder it sucked. . ."

            "Whoa-whoa-whoa, hold on a second! What was 'it'?" Hermione questioned with a nothing but seriousness showing in her dark mahogany eyes.

            "Yeah, what the hell are you going on about Gin? You sound like you're on something. . ." Ron asked peering down at her with his scrunched-up-heavily-freckled-nose while scratching his head in confusion. Harry just sent her a sidelong glance with a sheepish grin plastered on his face. 

            Ginny looked at her friend with furrowed brows and asked in disbelief, "What do you mean, 'what's it?' - the new story that I wrote and gave you today in the library three hours ago – the one you said you'd read after you finished your homework – you know! The Sexuality of Socks!" She exclaimed in anger as her friend's befuddled look remained pasted on her face, and ignored her brother's and Harry's bout of laughter that pursued after the title.

            "The Sexuality of Socks? What in Merlin's name is that?" Ron scoffed, while holding his side still in hysteria. He always knew his sister wrote, but he never took the time to find out what exactly. Now it seemed as though she was a comedy writer, but the though soon diminished as he noted the solemnity that marked her bright features as she replied.

            "It's my newest piece of writing, and I thought one of my best. I gave it to Hermione this afternoon to read, but it couldn't have been that good since she seems to have forgotten about it." Ginny stated so flatly that it seemed to pain her to speak of forgetfulness, and she shot daggers at her wild haired friend.  However it seemed as though Hermione took no notice, as she was busy squinting at the bit of ceiling to the right of Ginny and biting her lip in concentration as she tried to remember what exactly her friend was speaking of. Then as though she had been caught doing something dodgy, a bright blush spread across her olive complexion; that caused Ron to gap. Her gaze slowly returned to her flamboyant friend who was seated across from her.

            "Oh, I remember Ginny! I'm sorry. It was just that I was so swamped with all my assignments that I completely forgot about your story. But I'll read it now let me get it out of my bag." Hermione said with such flippant attitude as she began digging through her bag that Ginny almost toppled over in astonishment. It was funny how someone so genius could be so thick at times. She wondered momentarily what exactly went on in her mind, before Ron's squeaky voice interrupted her thoughts.

            "You mean you let 'Moine read your stories?"

            "Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Ginny replied in an incredulous tone as she involuntarily chewed on her nails.

            His voice almost sounded hurt as he spoke before picking up the before mentioned chess game with Harry, "Well, you've never let me read one of your stories."

            "Yeah, I always knew you've written Gin, but I've never read any of it, either. Is it dirty or something?" Harry joked while wagging his eyebrows up and down suggestively. 

This caused Ginny to blush slightly before sending him a knowing grin and saying in a lighthearted seductive tone that he had never heard her use before, "Well, wouldn't you like to know?" causing both Harry and Ron's eyebrows to go heaven bound.

"OH HOT HELL!" Ron boomed, while he and Harry burst into loud jeering laughter, "My baby sister is the author of racy romance novels! Ha ha ha! What a joke!"

Although he didn't seem to notice that Harry had stopped, or how quiet Virginia had become, until it was too late and a loud slapping sound rang throughout the common room. Gaining Ron a large welt on the side of his head, sobering him immediately, as he began staring at his 'baby sister' in utter disbelief, "By Merlin's beard, you weren't kidding. You really do write romance?"

"On occasions, as well as other things. But Romance does seem to be one of my more sought after genres. Yes, Ronald I do write romance, got a problem with that?" She glared at her brother from across the table, but he just continued to stare at her, and she leaned on her right hand, "I don't enjoy it, it's kinda forced out of me, and none of it's really that good."

"Then why do you write it if you don't like it?" Harry asked with an odd expression on his pale features.

"To get paid of course. How do you think I got all those new clothes?" Ginny replied nonchalantly as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"OH MERLIN! My sister is a authoress whore!" Ron exclaimed with wide eyes before another resounding slap was heard.

"Thank you 'Moine." Ginny smiled at Hermione who was giving the cowering redhead an icy glare. However, when she turned to face Ginny her face weakened and suddenly became uncharacteristically sheepish.

"I wouldn't be thanking me just yet, because it – er – seems as though I've miss placed your notebook. . ."

*~***Extended version***~*       

"What do you mean you think you lost it?" Ginny asked her bushy haired friend through clenched teeth as she gripped the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles turned white.

            Hermione gave her a dead beat look, one thing she hated more than anything was repeating herself, and seemed to be the only thing she had been doing since she got to Hogwarts. No one ever seemed to listen when you said things the first time, "What I mean is that I left a lot of books there and your notebook must have been among them. I'm sorry Ginny."

            Ginny's eyes widened before she unclenched her hands from the oak table and took a deep breath. She didn't know what to say, the three of them were staring at her expectantly, so she nodded idly and waved them off. Her reddened face returned to normal as she silently considered the situation, that wasn't really all that bad now that she thought about it. The book was just on a pile in the library, she could easily retrieve it at anytime. No one ever went to the potions section other than Hermione and Madam Pince who tidied up, and if Pince picked it up it was just be in the lost and found, which was easily accessible. Even if there was an odd chance that someone stumbled upon it, she doubted that they would read it, and if they had, Ginny never wrote anything too personal in there and her name wasn't even on the cover. There was no way that anyone could ever find out that she was the author . . .

            Her thoughts were cut in half as a large black eagle owl landed directly in front of her, with a thump knocking over half of Harry's chess pieces and earning everyone in the common room's attention. Ginny blinked absentmindedly at the large bird for a moment before cautiously removing the green envelope from its beck, causing the owl to fly back out the open window behind them as loudly as it had arrived. She fingered the thick envelope in her slender hand for a moment, glibly wondering who was writing her because the smooth writing of her name on the front wasn't helping in the identification of the sender. Ginny might have forgotten to even open it if Ron hadn't interrupted her thoughts by clearing his throat loudly.

            "Yes?" Ginny asked as she snapped back into reality.

            "Well, who's it from?" Ron asked with an eyebrow raised.

            "I don't know. I haven't opened it yet." She replied dryly.

            "Why not?"

            "Because it's my mail and I'll open it when I damn well please. Merlin, you can really be one helluva a git when you try . . ." Her voice was huffy and her eyes were narrowed as she ripped through the envelope and pulled out thick expensive stationary with speechless attention from the others who watched with obvious interest as she began to read. Each studying her face hoping that it would give away something about the context of the letter, but her face gave away nothing. They continued sitting there in silence until she refolded the letter and put it back into the envelope pretending not to notice their anxious expressions.

            "WELL?" Ron bellowed after the silence had grown unbearable and it was apparent that no one was going to willingly break it.

            However, despite his uncalled for outburst the only response he received was from Ginny who muttered in a vex tone, "Well is a deep subject for a shallow mind like yours." And Ron continued to fume as she pocketed the letter and started towards her dormitory.

            "Hey wait, Gin! You're not even gonna tell us who it's from?" Harry asked before she reached the stairs.

            "I don't see how it's any of your business, and it's kind of a personal letter, so I would like to keep that information to myself." She replied before disappearing up the stairs and a door slam soon followed.

            "If I didn't know any better I'd say she was hiding something."

            "Don't strain your brain Ron . . ." Hermione mumbled while staring at her fingernails before adding nonchalantly, and ignoring Ron's outlandish death glares and sputtering, "And if I didn't know any better I'd say that was Draco Malfoy's owl."

            After she had spoken those words both boys jumped out of their chairs, and a loud crashing din followed as they once again ran into the barrier blocking the girl's dorm.

            "Guess we'll just have to wait until she's ready to talk." Hermione yawned as she retrieved her bag from the floor and started towards the same direction in which Ginny had disappeared a few moments prior, "Good night boys, I hope you both regain your senses by morning." She ignored their shouts that directed to her to interrogate Ron's little sister and she made her way towards bed. The day had been a long one, she wanted nothing more than to rest, and no letter from a bigoted Malfoy was going to elongate her trip to her snug pillow. 

*       *      *

Weasley,

            While studying in the library this evening I discovered of something of yours that might strike your interest. It is, what I have come to believe, a writing notebook full of your sentimental stories and poetry. I would like to tell you right now that romance is for fools. Stick to something you know, like the last entry or your poem about the weather. Everything else is total and complete crap. You have wasted your hair of talent on such a mockery to writing that you should even find it disgusting. I wonder if your brother knows about some of the stories in this book, some were a tad racy, even for me. I'm sure he would be enthralled to know the dirty R-rated stories his little baby sister is writing. Who ever had the lip to call you innocent is obviously blind. 

            By now you are probably unclear as to the reason why I wrote. I have something of yours that you may want, something if given to the right person will embarrass you in to hiding. Therefore the idea of this concept is simple, and right out of your last story, I'm blackmailing you Virginia E. Weasley, and there's not much you can do about it.  Our first real correspondence will be in two weeks during the Hogsmeade trip, where you will be meeting me at The Three Broomsticks at noon where I will take you to our real meeting place after a butterbeer. If you try to seek me out previous to this trip, I'll just dispose of the book faster.

            Doesn't this all sound painstakingly familiar, Weasley? It should, it's out of your mind's eye.

I'll keep in touch,

Draco Malfoy

            Ginny stared down at the letter in disbelief. Blackmailed? Her? She felt torn between laughing and crying. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to her and when the odd chance it did, they were titled misadventures. And in the end someone always ended up hurt or even worse, dead. That was why Ginny tended to prefer living though pen and paper rather than heartache and blood. She always knew that her writing would bring her problems, but she had hoped that it would be with critics, not a vengeful blackmailing ferret. She now regretted, more than ever, cursing him four months ago. Ginny knew her actions would one day haunt her, but she thought that her pain would be more of the physical type than mental anguish. Then again, you can only expect the lowest of the low from a Malfoy, his dreadful father proved that point many years ago when he slipped her that diary. Chills still ran up her spine in recollection of Tom; Ginny quickly repressed her memories of the incident as she began plotting her current situation.

            She only had two real options: go and comply with his demands or skip the meeting and have her stories turned into her brother or someone worse. The second option at the moment seemed like nothing compared to the first, but who knew what sort of terrors Malfoy had in store for her. The worry, building hernias in her stomach, nearly made her brother's rage seem as harmless as a sleeping kitten. However that's when she remembered something that he had written in the letter that she hoped would brighten her situation considerably.

            _Doesn't this all sound painstakingly familiar, Weasley? It should, it's out of your mind's eye._

            But the plot from The Sexuality of Socks seemed farfetched from her current situation, even if it did evolve around a plot based on blackmail . . . Ginny tried to push the thoughts out of her head as she lay down and pulled her soft cotton sheets up to her chin. Especially since she had a full two weeks to be troubled about it. At the current moment the only thing she wanted was to ignore the situation and face more present problems, such as her test in charms the next morning.

**A/N:** **I'M GOING TO COMIC-CON ON SATURDAY! ! ! YAY! !** *does a happy dance to the Smashing Pumpkin's song she's listening to at the moment* Yes, I'm really that lame. . . But at least I'm going to a place where all the people are as lame as I am. *grin*

**Now on to more important things:** I hope you enjoyed this nice long, long chapter. (Seven pages in size 9 Veranda font.) And Caitlin was right on the money when she called the previous chapter a prologue, for that's what it originated as. It's now corrected and reposted. Oh, and I should note that I'm sorry, I love the wonderful feedback, but I will continue referring to her as Virginia on certain situations. The reason why is simple: Ginny is too small of a name for such a large person. (This is coming from someone who was cursed with a three-letter name, mind you.)

And the rest of you; you all rock my socks. Thanks for the praise and expect chapter two relatively soon.

Thanks and please **review**.


	3. Tiptoe Through the Riots

**Chapter Three: Tiptoe Through the Riots**

**A/N: ****Muy importante****: If you did not read the extended version of chapter 2 do it now, or else this chapter will not make any sense. Bwahahaha! (I feel like the Wizard of Oz, I wonder why?)**

            Hogwarts was beautiful during the autumn; the grounds were littered with the scarlet and gold leaves that had begun to fall from the shedding trees. They floated into the entrance hall with the cool draft whenever someone decided to depart. Their vibrant colors painted the normally dreary looking grounds and gave the building a refreshing feeling of purity and calm that it held during no other time of the year. Even recurrent rain even brought an odd sense of cleanliness to the dying trees and dusty campus. Along with the crisp scent of leaves that seemed to crawl up your snout as the wind blew through the busy corridors between classes. 

Ginny usually lived for this time of the year – however, her current issues with Malfoy kept her thoughts far from appreciating the beautiful scenery. Her sense of dread seemed to make the clocks to move faster as she soon found herself being woken up by the bright sunlight coming through the thick golden drapes of her canopy bed and the shuffling of the other girls in the dorm busily readying themselves for their soon to come expedition into the small wizarding town of Hogsmeade. She didn't know whether to cry or fall back asleep and pretend that this day hadn't come yet. Ginny opted for the second choice as she rolled over and shut her eyes, but the nervous churning in the pit of her stomach that had kept her up a good part of the previous night would not allow it. She wanted to prolong the events awaiting her later that afternoon as long as she possibly could. Ginny kept that thought in mind as she drew herself a nice hot bath with bubbles galore as soon as the other fifth year girls had abandoned her company for that of those in the Great Hall. The scent of mint leaves and tea drifted up her freckled nose as she lowered herself into the porcelain tub and gasped as the hot water engulfed her cold body. Ginny hadn't the time for such an extravagance in a long time, not since the previous June when she had returned from Department of Mysteries. The summer had been too busy, and with sharing the washroom with so many people, at home and at school, she never was able to have a lengthy enough period of time in the tub for a nice long bath, but today was different. With everyone gone, and her lack of interest in breakfast Ginny was free to take her time, and that was exactly what she planned to do. She felt she deserved it, especially with the horrors she would be facing at noon over a butterbeer. The very idea of it sent shivers up her spine, even in a tub of hot water.

"Oh the audacity of that brute!" Ginny groaned as she sighed and placed a washcloth over her face before sinking lower into her tub of anxiety.

*        *        * 

"Hey Draco, are we going to Zonkos today or not. I need more dung bombs because wasted the remainder of mine when I dropped them into Longbottom's pepper up potion last Tuesday. So if you're not going with me I need to know now so I can ask Blaise." Pansy asked bitterly before sloppily eating a forkful of pancakes. Her half closed eyes signaled that she didn't really give a damn either way. She didn't have a bond with either boy, therefore their company, or lack there of, meant nothing to her. She was just out for a good time and Draco knew that; if she wanted anything more from him their alliance never would have existed.

"No Parkinson, I have more important things to do than waste my time buying crap when a curse works far more efficiently." Draco grumbled in response while stirring his coffee with one hand and massaging his forehead with the other. He had the late shift of hall patrol the previous night and had caught an almost unimaginable amount of snogging couples though out the school. One of the more hormonal participants had taken it upon themselves after he had 'leniently' taken away points to chew his ear off for being a peaking tom and spoil sport, and then was punched in the gut by her boyfriend after he proceeded to deduce points and he had 'accidentally' slipped in a harmless comment about their desperate need for a room. The students at this school had no respect for authority, especially those damn Gryfs who proceeded to make his life even more miserable. However, one particular Gryffindor understood his rule and it entertained him greatly to watch her retreating glances and nervousness whenever he was in site. Yes, it was great fun teasing the youngest Weasley and her obvious fear of him made it even more enjoyable.

Draco had no idea what exactly it was that he was going to make her do in order to retrieve her book, but the chance to watch her squirm was too good an offer to pass up. He was sure what type of terrified ideas she had stirring up in her head by thinking that he was basing his blackmail on her story. After all, The Sexuality of Socks was such an interesting and devious tale.

*       *       *      *

Ginny took a deep breath as she walked in to The Three Broomsticks that afternoon. She had taken her time to do everything she could to soothe her nerves. After the therapeutic mint bath Ginny had done everything from basic yoga stretches that Hermione taught her to eating chocolate to fixing her self properly. Ginny had even dressed in her newest outfit to ensure self comfort and raise her dwindling self esteem. Her radical effort seemed to pay off as she calmly made her way towards Malfoy's table in the back of the restaurant as though she hadn't a care in the world.

"So you actually had the guts to show? Well, we'll see how brave you are by the end of our meeting. Come now Weasel, sit. Don't you know that it's rude to gawk at people or do the lowest of the low class not believe in manners?" Draco sneered expectantly while causally leaning back in his chair. He was almost surprised at how serene she appeared, and he wanted nothing more than to shatter her cool as fast as possible. However, Draco's amazement was only heightened as she replied instantly and smoother than ice.

"Well Malfoy, being from a low class family and all, I wouldn't know if the rules were the same with you, but when a gentleman, which I never expected you to be, requests the company of a lady, even if they are only discussing a matter as trivial as black mail, he is usually courteous enough to pull out the chair for her. However, under the circumstances, I shouldn't have expected anything above the low from you." She sighed before pulling out her oven chair and smoothly taking a seat, ignoring Draco's death glared that he had direct towards her, "Now, I don't believe that you asked me here to discuss manners, or lack there of . . .so please, Malfoy, let's talk this over quickly because I'm sure we both have better things to do."

His lips were pursed so tightly by the time she was through that it almost seemed as if they were sown shut, but he quickly regained his composure as he replied in a biting tone, "Actually Weasley, there are quite a few topics I'd like to address before we return to school. Tons more than just the terms of this arrangement, so you better not have made anymore plans for this afternoon unless you want to miss them, "Ginny shook her head and he continued, "Well then, lets start out with the content of your note book . . ."

"Yes Malfoy, I know it's a tad racy in spots, and most would wonder how a young girl like me could write something like that – " 

"I did ponder that thought, yes, but that isn't what I was going to ask you. You really must work on those manners of yours; you shouldn't interrupt people like that. You might never learn what they were going to say." Draco interject with a large annoying smirk on his face as she unintentionally wondered what he was going to say, "Well, anyhow, what I was going to ask was why did you force yourself to write that crap?"

"What do you mean?" Ginny knew exactly why he meant, but she wanted to know how he had come to that conclusion.

"It was obvious after your first poem that these romance stories weren't something you enjoyed writing. So why do it? It's not that I care that you're a masochist; I just wanted to know your reasoning . . . "

"The money obviously." She paused for a moment searching for a reason why she had just said that, "The girls in my year pay me for stories, therefore I write what they want for commission." she yawned tiresomely, "And it's not like I never have time to write anything that I personally enjoy . . ."

"Like The Sexuality of Socks?" her questioned dryly.

"Exactly," Ginny replied before taking a sip of her butterbeer that had just arrived.

"How low it must feel to have to sell yourself in order to wear decent clothes," he sneered while gesturing at her apparel, "At least you don't dress like a slut, but I suppose 'all' prostitute writers dress that classy . . ."

Ginny glared at him before replying sardonically, "Oh yes, we even have a specialty store."

"I'm sure," he pondered dryly before a smirk reached his mouth, "So how did you write the racy parts?" 

Ginny smiled flippantly before speaking in the same seductive tone she had used that evening two weeks ago with Harry, "Wouldn't you liked to know." She wondered how much longer she was going to have to humor him before she'd learn the terms of her blackmail.

*       *       *       *

            They exited the Three Broomsticks only after Draco had found out as much information as she would give about her newest tale, and it was a lot less than he had been looking for. Ginny refused to give away anything about the reason for writing it, other than practice. She would tell if she wrote off experience, or why she did it in the first place. Ginny only answered his studied questions with vague reply or queries of her own. She was too calm and composed for him to easily push her around, but Draco could tell that her façade was beginning to lapse as he continued to tease. He was slowly learning things about the lively redhead who silently walked beside him, cautious to keep pace. She wasn't witty; she was professional. She wasn't cute; she was annoying. Her lips weren't venomous; they were luscious. And Draco also discovered that his eyes were glued to these lips as they slowly phrased inaudible words and he magiced the opening of they're destination.

            "Malfoy, are you listening to a single goddamned word I'm saying? 'Cause if you aren't then I'm going to stop wasting my time and shut up."

            "Yes, please do . . ." Draco responded coldly as he rubbed his forehead and tore his eyes from her wicked mouth; the very same sinful lips that cursed him with a wretched bogey hex less than three months ago. But such a vibrant mouth should be used for no other purpose than being cherished; Draco was sure that none of her previous admirers worn them for such a purpose. How he couldn't wait to corrupt those very chops with his own, to chew them and spit them out until they were nothing but tainted quivering stained petals.  

Ginny was steaming at his response as she stepped through the gate door he held for her and took in the very bare brown yard before her, "Where the hell are we Malfoy?" the alarm was apparent in her voice.

"If I was being blackmailed, I would take care to be more respectful before terms were discussed, Weasley." She noticeably tensed, and he continued gingerly down the stone walk toward the large Victorian house before them, "Besides, weasel, where does it look like we are?"

"Like the house in my story . . . but . . ." her façade had faltered and Draco smirked as he held the front door open for her and she slowly slinked into the house, "That's impossible . . ."

"Nothing is impossible for a Malfoy, Weasley, and you of all people should know that," he allowed the sentence to hang dramatically as he led her into a den and they took as seat, "Now how do you take your tea weasel?" Draco clapped his hand and a house elf appeared with two cups of tea in hand.

Her face paled as she looked like an animal being led to the slaughter, "Screw the tea ferret; tell me what the hell you're getting at."

"Temper. Temper, Weasley, you don't want to go and loose your cool now do you?" Draco's smirk was annoyingly broad as he took a cup, but his control was cut short as she asked her next question.

"Wait one damned moment, ferret . . ."She huffed, clearly alarmed, but she soon calmed down as realization hit her, and her soft voice spoke a practical question, "What color socks are you wearing?"

"Black . . .why?" But the game was already lost for him and her control was regained.

"No reason Malfoy . . . Now let's discuss these terms of yours." Ginny smiled as she leaned back in her chair and accepted the tea from the elf at her side. 

**A/N: Well, there's chapter three. I hope you enjoyed it.  I know I did. Sorry if it wasn't as humorous as it's predecessor, but the next chapter will be, don't worry.**

**Thank you reviewers. You all rock, but I want more! *Starts stingingly like the little mermaid, but is cut off by a fit of gagging* *Instead starts screaming the Offspring's Self Esteem.* Any reviewers know it? **


	4. No One Listens, But It's So Hot When You...

** Chapter Three: No One Listens, But It's So Hot When You Try**

Draco's level of tension inflated as rapid as Ginny's had disappeared when he realized how in control she really was. With that bit of information his position was revealed and he was no longer able to inflict any pain in her isolated heart. He was well aware of the fact that Ginny knew he had no proposition addressing the arrangement and that he wasn't going to make use of her fictional blackmailer's favorite rendezvous. However, it seemed as though she wasn't well acquainted with the plot of her own story, as he assumed since it took her this long to remember the characters' first meeting, so his strategy of action still held some affect. He kept this in mind as she addressed him once again, and confirmed his thoughts.

"Malfoy, I know you don't have a clue as to what you're going to make me do, and your little ploy of dragging me here isn't bothering me at all. So I really don't know what you're trying to accomplish here this afternoon, especially since you have less of an idea than I do as to where this is going."

"But weasel, isn't that half the fun of life? No one ever knows where they're going." His drawl was cool as he inspected his cuticles numbly, and ignored her clapping across from him sarcastically.

"I knew it was some of my better work. The great Draco Malfoy is even quoting it!" She raved before allowing a scowl to sink into her moist lips, and took a small sip of her very hot vanilla tea. The taste mixed well with her strawberry flavored lip-gloss that Hermione had given her for her birthday several years prior. Strawberry had always been her favorite flavor other than coffee, and she nearly stopped wearing it after her relationship with Michael, since it was a flavor they shared together. Though she managed to still use it after she came to the conclusion that no stupid boy was going to stop her from a taste she enjoyed, nor would she allow him to hurt her. She always wanted to make a point of wearing the pants in a relationship, being possessed does that to a person, and that reason she hated Draco Malfoy. He made her feel uncertain of herself, like Alden, the main character in her story. Despite all that, she found herself feeding on the uncertainty like an addict and their drug; she needed it to feel alive. That's what scared her most.

"Actually, weasel, I can't deny you of that fact. It is some of your better mediocre work. If it wasn't profound, it was sure as hell interesting, the way your well-rounded characters relate their emotions and situations to the colors and style of their socks. Who would have known that something so subtle revealed so much?" Draco spoke in such a way that it was difficult to tell if he was being truly sincere, although his emotions were cleared in his next statement, "But my favorite part had to be your introduction. I couldn't help but laughing."

"It wasn't meant to be humorous." Ginny replied coolly while setting down her teacup, and crossing her opposite legs. She watched Draco stiffen as her nude legs brushed each other momentarily and the lavender beaded hem of her knee length skirt grazed her cream colored skin. It was nice having control, she thought haughtily.

"Yes, but that was the beauty of it. Do you not read your own stuff Weasley? Here, I'll read it to you?" he sneered before his pale hand snaked into his robe and pulled out a hard-covered purple book that she instantly recognized, "Ahem – The Sexuality of Socks, by Virginia E. Weasley . . ."he started while his sneer swiftly turned into a smirk, "_Well, you see, socks are a very odd things. Gloving for your feet, some might say, but there is just something about these garments that make them the epitome of sexiness. Whether they are cotton, nylon, or just the lack there of, socks are...well... socks. Closer than close. They brush your legs like a painter and his easel. And if taking them off isn't an art of it's own?  
_  
"_Socks are the more intimate piece of clothing, and show individuality. There are toe socks, knee socks, anklet socks, striped socks, argyle socks, black socks, crew socks, and full on stockings._  
  
"_And think about it. In your dirtiest fantasies if your lover is wearing anything, isn't it socks?_  
  
"_With that in mind, get ready to dive into my tale of love, greed, and overall, socks..._" He concluded with a sort of dramatic irony that only a Malfoy could muster, and it was heightened by Ginny's dropped jaw. Whatever she had expected for him, this was clearly not it, "Isn't that lovely. I can't help but smile every time I read that. You may not be especially talented, but you do know how to grasp a person's attention. But I suppose all writing whores do. It's part of the trade I assume."

            Her mouth snapped shut as she quickly muttered a retort, "Never assume Malfoy. Such things are rarely correct, and they only make the thinker appear foolish."

            Draco sneered as she gingerly set the book on to the table with an expression of triumph on his sharp features, "And of course you would know a lot about that, wouldn't you weasel?" before she could reply he changed the subject, And let's just thank God that your story was better than that introduction, I was surprised that I didn't set the book done right then."

            Ginny glanced at him chewing her painted purple nails that matched her skirt in consideration, "No one ever forced you to read it Malfoy."

            "Very true Weasley, but what the point of blackmail if you don't know what you're holding."

*       *       *       *

            They're afternoon in the dreary old Victorian house ended as oddly as it had begun. They had lingered only a while longer as Malfoy gave her instructions for their next meeting and he accompanied her back to the carriages. He then left without saying another word concerning the blackmail other than the reminder of what would happen if he approached him during school hours, which was not a very appealing suggestion. However, his final words were truly of the more disarming type as he whispered them in her ear has she entered the carriage,

            "The sent of strawberry doesn't suite you, Weasley. You seem more of the coffee scented kind." He closed the door before she could respond, but that boy really did know how to make a person uncomfortable. Ginny hated it, but at the same way she found it faintly attractive in an alarming way. And the thing that humored her the most was how he managed to go an entire afternoon without poisoning her with his venom tongue. Her mind drifted slightly toward the direction of that tongue on her lips but quickly dismissed the idea with a disruptive "eww" and fierce shaking of her head before breaking out into a loud fit of giggles that raged like the sea until the carriage arrived back at Hogwarts.

            Yes, this Draco Malfoy was an amusing one, and nearly worth her time. She would dominate him. And she would have fun. He was going to give her an adrenaline trip that was far beyond reason. He was the un-gettable get and the forbidden fruit that her curiosity longed to taste. Just to see if she could. Curiosity may have killed the cat but at least he had an interesting life.

*       *       *

            Hermione sat in the library alone like she had on many other occasions, however for some odd reason she was unable to complete any work. She had just splurged her time and had the most wonderful afternoon she had taken the time for in a month. She missed the pervious summer she had nearly wasted in Paris, for traveling the world was nothing if the ones you really care about are nowhere near. And the person who was entwined in her thoughts was spending his time probably playing quidditch in his backyard in the Burrow pretending that everything that they had been through the previous year hadn't happened. She loathed how he blinded himself from the world. He was so secure, so screened, that it was disgusting sometimes. Hermione had read one too many books to be the naïve little girl she once was, and she wanted to share her newfound knowledge. And she had decided that if when she came down to the Burrow that summer, if Ron wasn't ready after six years of friendship and three years of beating around the bush, she was going to move on. She couldn't wait around for him forever. Besides, she sick of pretending that their "realization period" during their stay at Grimmauld Place didn't happen. Their short romance ended nearly as soon as it had started when Harry arrived. They had made a pact not to let their friend in on the little secret because he already had enough on his plate as it was.  But that didn't excuse the fact that it had nearly been a year after the fact and they still hadn't come out to everyone about it.

            However, today was different. Today Ron had met her alone in a very public place to share a butterbeer, he had even placed his arm around her as they spoke and squeezed her shoulder lovingly whenever he got excited. And she only had herself to thank for the change. If she hadn't written that ten page letter to Victor, and explained to Ron that they didn't have a real relationship before her two and a half month log departure to Paris that summer, he never would have written to her confessing his true feelings which had previously just gone unsaid. Nevertheless, they still had no clue how Harry would take it and his previous outbursts did not push them in the right direction as they chose to still keep it a secret. But this afternoon everything changed when Harry, himself, spotted them at their "Prefect Meeting", and he laughed with delight as they tried to explain the situation. It was obvious that he had been wondering how long it would be until they announced their feelings publicly, and that it wasn't a big surprise to him since they were his two best friends. He did say, however, that Neville might be another story since he is so fond of Hermione, but the two were ready to take their chances.  Her happiness overwhelmed her as she lightly planted a small peck on Ron's cheek causing his entire body to flush, and Harry to laugh harder as he dismissed himself. Hermione was so content with the moment that she completely forgot to consider the most important wall between them; Ron's sister and her best female friend.

Ginny. 

Hermione silently prayed as she stared out at the lake and took no notice of the gold leaves glided that through the breeze and landed softly on the water's surface. Ginny would understand, and what would thrill her more than an authentic romance brewing right under her nose. Especially one that had been kept secret for over a year . . .


End file.
